Episode 16: Teenage Wasteland
by heisey
Summary: A month or two after Fancy Footwork, the detectives at the 8th Precinct work a homicide with detectives from the 20th Precinct. If there had been a second season, this case might have been the third episode.
1. Chapter 1

Episode 16: "Teenage Wasteland"

Day One

_Scene One_

The shrill ring of his cell phone jolted Jim out of a sound sleep. "Dunbar," he rasped.

It was Karen. "We got a DOA," she told him. "I'll be leaving in about fifteen minutes. I'll pick you up on the way there."

"Okay, see you then." He closed the phone, groaning inwardly. Of all the days to get an early morning call. Following Dr. Galloway's suggestion to do the things they used to enjoy together, he and Christie had gone to a jazz club the previous evening. It was the first time they'd done something like that since he'd been shot and lost his sight. To his surprise, he'd enjoyed it. He'd always been a jazz fan, and the lack of visual distractions allowed him to enjoy the music's intricacies even more now than when he could see. But it had been a late evening, followed by an early morning. He checked his watch: 5:15 a.m.

He hurriedly showered and shaved, then went to the closet. Silently cursing his rudimentary Braille skills, he carefully read the tags on his clothes to make sure he selected a shirt and tie to match his suit. He promised himself, not for the first time, that he would improve his Braille skills – eventually, when he had the time.

As he finished tying his tie, Karen buzzed from the downstairs entry hall. "I'll be there in a minute," he told her over the intercom, then went to the hall table for Hank's harness. The German Shepherd trotted over to Jim when he saw the harness, and Jim put it on. Shrugging into his trench coat, he headed for the door, then reversed course. Moving as quietly as he could, he walked back into the bedroom, to Christie's side of the bed, and gently kissed her. She stirred and said drowsily, "Good morning."

"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

She opened her eyes. "You're leaving?"

"We got a call. Karen's waiting downstairs. Go back to sleep, it's early."

"I had a good time last night."

"Yeah, me, too. See you tonight."

"Don't forget our appointment."

"Wha – ? Oh, right. See you there."

As Jim walked out the front door of his building, Karen lowered the passenger side window and called to him, "Over here, Jim. Eleven o'clock."

As he opened the car's back door for Hank, he told Karen, "Sorry to keep you waiting." He closed the door behind Hank, then got in the car himself.

"No problem. By the way, I picked up coffee. I figured we'd both need it." She touched the cup to Jim's hand, and he took it from her.

"Thanks," he said. "So, what've we got?"

"I don't know much. DOA was found in the basement of a vacant building on Suffolk. No ID, but it may be the girl who's been missing from the Upper West Side since this past weekend."

"The one who's been all over the news?"

"Yeah, that one."

They lapsed into silence. Jim drank his coffee, trying to wake up completely. When he could see, he'd often arrive at early-morning crime scenes half-awake. That was no longer an option. Now he had to be able to focus.

The car turned to the right and stopped. "We're here," Karen told him. He and Hank got out of the car and followed Karen to the crime scene perimeter, where Karen spoke to a uniformed officer. He did a double-take when he saw Jim and Hank. Karen sighed and rolled her eyes. She'd thought that, by now, the other cops at the 8th would be used to the idea of a blind guy working there.

"What've we got?" she asked.

"Victim's in the basement, crime scene's already there."

"Who called it in?"

"A couple homeless guys found a way to get in last night. Guess they wish they hadn't. Anyway, they smelled something and found the victim when they went down to the basement to check it out."

"Let's get down there," Jim said to Karen.

"Stairs to the basement are at the back," the cop told them, lifting the crime-scene tape and stepping back to let them through.

When they reached the top of the basement stairs, Karen stopped abruptly. "Whoa," she said, "this stairwell is _dark_."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Very funny, Dunbar."

"Hey, no problem," Jim told her, reaching into his pocket and taking out his cane. "Hank, stay. I'll lead, for a change. Come on, put your hand on my shoulder and follow me."

Karen complied, thinking how odd it was for Jim to be leading her, instead of the other way round. Then it dawned on her: she had always taken it for granted that Jim would trust her to guide him. Now their roles were reversed, and for the first time, she felt she understood, a little, the trust he had to place in her every day. "Lead on," she told him.

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs. Karen stepped to her usual position slightly in front of Jim. "Here you go, Jim," she murmured, and he took her arm. They went around a corner into the main room. "Well," she began, "the room is empty, looks like it's been cleared out. The victim is lying on her back, next to the far wall. There's something odd . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What?" Jim demanded.

"She doesn't look like she was just left where she fell. It looks like someone positioned her. She's fully clothed, with her hands folded on her chest. There's something in her hands and some strange marks on her face. . . "

"Can you tell what they are?"Jim interrupted.

"Not from here."

"There's something else," Karen continued, "something drawn on the wall above her. It looks like a series of interlocking triangles."

A uniformed officer noticed them approaching. "The witnesses who found her said she was covered up with that canvas drop cloth over in the corner," he said, gesturing.

"To your right," Karen interjected.

"Yeah," he continued, "they took it off of her when they found her and dropped it over there, but they claim they didn't move or touch her."

"What about the marks on her face?" Jim asked

"I'm not sure what they are. It looks like someone cut some lines into her cheeks with something sharp. But it's hard to tell."

"What's she got in her hands?"

"Looks like a folded piece of paper. We're leaving it where it is until the ME gets here."

"Any other injuries?"

"Well, we haven't turned her over, but there's dried blood pooled under her head, so I'm thinking there's an injury to the back of her head."

"Which means she must have been positioned – if she was positioned – while she was still bleeding," Jim theorized.

"And that would mean soon after the injury, whatever it was," Karen pointed out. "Is there anything to indicate that she was killed here?"

"Yeah," the officer replied, "some material that looks like dried blood and tissue on the floor and wall over there."

"The far wall," Karen added.

"And some smears along the floor to where she's lying, as if she was dragged there. Crime scene is taking samples to see if it's hers, but, yeah, it looks like she was killed here."

"Did you find anything that could have been used as a weapon?" Jim asked.

"No, the room is pretty bare."

"Thanks." He turned to Karen. "We done here?"

She nodded. "Yeah, for now."

_Scene Two_

Lt. Fisk hung up the phone and walked into the squad room. "Listen up, everyone. After the ME called with the ID on our DOA, I called Don Campbell at the 20th to let him know she's his missing girl, Michelle Norman. He's sending over the two detectives who worked her disappearance. They'll get us up to speed on their investigation and team up with us on the homicide. Their names are Dave Morrison and Paul Vecchione. Anyone know them?"

After the detectives all shook their heads and said "no," Marty continued, "Boss, has anyone warned them they'll be working with Dunbar here?"

"Zip it, Marty," Karen snapped.

"I'm just saying, they're going to be in for a surprise when they walk in here and find out they're going to have to work with the famous blind detective."

Fisk shook his head in exasperation. "That's enough, Marty. I'm sure they'll be on their best behavior. See to it that you are, too." He went back to his office and shut the door.

"Just give it a rest, will you, Marty?" Karen told him.

"Hey, I'm just looking out for Dunbar's interests here," he countered.

"Thanks, Marty," Jim said sweetly, "I knew I could count on you to have my back." He waved his hand. "Enough already." But as he replaced his earpiece and started listening to the computer-generated voice read back his latest report, he wondered if Marty could be right. Except for the case with his former partner, Terry Jansen, Jim hadn't worked with any detectives from other precincts since coming back on the job. If Terry's new partner was any indication, the detectives from the 20th would have no idea of his capabilities. And there was every chance they'd be just as antagonistic as Marty had been at the beginning, until he proved himself. Would he have to prove himself all over again? Jim sighed and went back to his report.

_Scene Three_

A half hour later, the two detectives from the 20th walked into the squad room and asked for Lt. Fisk.

Tom gestured toward Fisk's office. "In his office."

After a few minutes' conversation with them in his office, Fisk came out to make the introductions. "Guys, this is Dave Morrison and Paul Vecchione from the 20th. Dave, Paul, Karen Bettancourt, Marty Russo, Jim Dunbar, Tom Selway." When his name was mentioned, Jim turned toward Fisk's voice and nodded to acknowledge the introduction, hoping he was nodding in the direction of the newcomers.

Morrison's eyes widened in surprise when Fisk introduced Jim. He had forgotten the 8th was the precinct where the brass had assigned Dunbar when he came back on the job after being blinded in that shoot-out. No wonder they needed some extra help on this case.

Fisk continued, "Dave, Paul, can you get us up to speed?"

Morrison answered. "Michelle Norman was an 18-year-old college student. She was last seen around 3:30 on Saturday afternoon, when she left her part-time job at a book store on Broadway. She had plans to spend the evening with her best friend, Kendra Barton, but she called Kendra and cancelled. Kendra spent the evening with her other best friend, Jennifer Kendrick, instead. Michelle's parents were out of town for the weekend. When they got home late Sunday night, Michelle wasn't there and apparently hadn't been home for most of the weekend. There were new voice mail messages from Saturday and Sunday. Michelle's parents called all of her friends, but no one had seen her since Saturday, and she didn't show up for any of her classes on Monday. They reported her missing at around noon on Monday."

Vecchione picked up the narrative. "The mom and Kendra made up flyers and posted them around the neighborhood. The parents also got the media involved. They jumped all over it, of course – an attractive young white woman gone missing. Like Dave said, no one who knew her saw her after she left work on Saturday, and no one seems to know what she was going to do for the rest of the weekend. We wondered if there was some reason she was being secretive about her plans."

Jim interrupted. "At the crime scene, there was a series of interlocking triangles drawn on the wall. Does that mean anything to you?" he asked.

"How – ?" Morrison began, then answered, "No, we never heard of anything like that in connection with Michelle. Why, you think she was into something weird?"

"I don't know. We looked for other homicides associated with the same symbol and didn't find any, so I was wondering if it was something associated with her, specifically."

"I doubt it," Vecchione commented. "She was a nice kid from a nice family. I just don't see her being into something weird."

Jim shrugged. "Maybe. But she wouldn't be the first nice kid from a nice family to get mixed up in something bizarre. And the parents are always the last to find out, when it happens. What do her friends say?"

"They're nice kids, too – none of them have records, and they don't seem like the type to get mixed up in anything weird. But we didn't know about the triangles when we talked to them. We'll go talk to them again."

Jim nodded. "Good."

Marty spoke up. "Any idea what she was doing in this neighborhood?"

"No," Vecchione answered. "As far as we can tell, all of her friends and activities were centered in her own neighborhood. No idea how she ended up here."

"Maybe she didn't come here voluntarily," Marty speculated, "maybe she was brought here."

"Well, we considered the possibility she'd been abducted, of course, when she turned up missing," Vecchione responded, "but we came up empty when we checked out known sex offenders. It's still a possibility, though."

Fisk interrupted their theorizing. "Karen, Jim, the ME said she'd be finished with the autopsy by now. Get over there and see what you can find out."

Jim nodded. Turning to Karen, he said, "I need to take Hank out, then we'll go."

"Okay," Karen replied, "see you in a few."

Morrison leaned back in his chair. He was puzzled. Fisk and his other detectives were acting as if working with a blind guy was perfectly normal, and Dunbar was part of the team. Surely, that wasn't possible. He watched Jim and Hank walk down the hall, then turned to the three remaining detectives. "I really feel for you guys."

Karen stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Having that guy" – he jerked his head in the direction Jim had gone – "dumped on you."

"Yeah," Vecchione joined in, "our jobs are hard enough without having to baby-sit a blind guy who's trying to play detective."

"Not to mention," Morrison added, "that the three of you have to do the work of four detectives."

"You know," Marty said, in the "don't-mess-with-me" tone he usually reserved for suspects, "you two really should keep your mouths shut when you don't know what the hell you're talking about." He stood and walked toward Morrison and Vecchione. "Got that?" he asked, jabbing a finger in their direction.

Morrison and Vecchione looked at each other and shrugged. "Whatever you say," Morrison replied, then turned back to Vecchione. "Let's get some coffee."

After they disappeared into the locker room, Tom turned to Marty. "I don't believe what I just heard you say. Hell has officially frozen over."

Karen turned and noticed Jim and Hank returning. "Hey, Jim. Ready to go?"

"Yeah, in a minute," Jim replied. He turned to speak to Marty. "Did I hear it right? Were you defending me?"

"Don't get smug, Dunbar. I'm not going to let a couple of assholes from another precinct dump on anyone in this squad – not even you."

"Why, thank you, Marty. I didn't know you cared. You ready, Karen?"

"Yeah, let's get out of here."

_Scene Four_

They rode in silence for about a block before Jim turned toward Karen. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Tell you what?"

"You know what, Karen. What happened while I was walking Hank?"

"What Marty said – those two guys from the 20th being jerks, when they don't know what the hell they're talking about."

"Meaning me?"

"Well, yeah."

"C'mon, Karen, I'm sure I've heard worse."

"If you really want to know . . . they said it was too bad we have to baby-sit a blind guy who wants to play detective, and that Tom, Marty, and I have to do the work of four detectives."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, then Marty jumped all over them. Like Tom said, we thought hell had frozen over."

Jim gave her a little grin, then turned away, looking thoughtful. After a few minutes, he turned back to Karen. "So, is that what other cops out there think – that this is a joke?"

"Honestly, Jim, I don't know. I'm your partner, so people aren't going to say anything to my face. I'm just sorry you have to deal with assholes like them."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Jim told her.

"It's not yours, either."

_Scene Five_

"Cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the back of the head," Dr. Taylor referred to her clipboard. "Death would have occurred within a few minutes."

"Any defense wounds or signs of a struggle?" Jim asked.

Dr. Taylor shook her head. "No."

"Was she sexually assaulted?"

"No."

"Any indication she'd been bound or restrained in any way?"

"No."

"What was on the folded paper in her hands?"

"A series of triangles."

"Interlocking?"

"Yes."

"Any drugs or alcohol on board?"

"We're still waiting for the complete tox screen, but preliminary blood alcohol was negative."

"What about the marks on her face?"

"They're post-mortem, because they didn't bleed. They were made with some sort of sharp instrument –"

"Like a knife?" Karen interrupted.

"Possibly." Dr. Taylor continued, "They could be triangles, but the post-mortem changes make it difficult to be certain."

"Have you ever seen anything like them, or the triangles on the paper, before?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Is there anything else you _can_ tell us?" asked Jim, sounding frustrated.

"Not at the moment. I'll notify you when we get the final toxicology report."

_Scene Six_

Back in the car, Jim closed his phone after briefing Fisk on the ME's findings. "Boss said we should just head home and pick this up in the morning."

"Okay. You want me to drop you off at home?"

"Uh, no. . . . I have to meet Christie. Can you drop me at 53rd and Lex?"

"Sure." Karen paused, looking over at Jim. "Something bothering you?"

"None of this makes any sense. What was she doing in that basement? Did she go there voluntarily? Why didn't she struggle? If she was abducted, how did the killer get her there? Why no sexual assault?" He frowned and shook his head. "Maybe things will make more sense in the morning."

_Scene Seven_

"Christie," Dr. Esther Cohen observed, "I noticed in our first session, and again just now, that when you refer to Jim losing his sight, you call it an 'accident.' But it wasn't an accident, was it?"

"I know it wasn't an accident," Christie replied. "Someone tried to kill Jim . . . they almost _did_ kill him. Ever since he went back on the job . . . it's just easier if I think of it as an accident." A few tears ran down her cheeks, and she sniffed. Sitting next to her on the couch, Jim put his arm around her, then turned toward Dr. Cohen, a puzzled look on his face.

"Christie, help me understand." Christie raised her head as Dr. Cohen spoke and handed her the tissue box. "Jim was a cop when you met him, wasn't he? Didn't you always worry about his safety?"

"Yes, of course. . . .but it's different now."

"In what way?"

"Before the – before Jim was shot, I knew he could be hurt or killed on the job, but it was just something that _could_ happen, it wasn't real. Now it's real. It really happened." She reached for the tissue box and began dabbing her eyes as the tears began again.

"Christie," Jim spoke up, "why haven't you told me this before?"

She moved away from Jim and turned to face him. "What good would it have done? Nothing was going to stop you from going back on the job. Certainly not me."

"Christie, I – "

"And look what you've been doing since you've been back on the job. An undercover drug deal! Didn't you stop and think how dangerous that was? When those drug dealers left you stranded over in Jersey – you're lucky they didn't kill you. When you called that day and told me about losing Hank, all I could think of was how close I'd come – again – to losing _you_."

"Christie, I had no idea," Jim began again.

"Would it have made any difference if you did?" she demanded. "It's always about the job, it always has been. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

Dr. Cohen stepped in. "What do you think, Jim? Why do _you_ think you and Christie are here?"

"I just thought . . . we needed to talk."

"You do," Dr. Cohen agreed. "So – what do you have to say about all this?"

"I don't know," Jim began, then turned to Christie. "I mean, being a cop isn't just what I do, it's who I am. I know you know that, and I don't think you expect me to give that up. I thought you supported me in going back on the job. I guess I'm confused, here."

"Christie?" Dr. Cohen asked.

"I did support you, Jimmy, but only because I knew it wouldn't do any good to try to talk you out of it. And I knew I couldn't ask you to give that up, too, not after everything else you had to give up. But it doesn't stop me from worrying every single morning when you walk out the door. And face it, Jimmy, you have a reckless streak, and, and . . . you're _blind_. I know how capable you are, but you can't defend yourself the way you could before. You can't deny that, you can't."

Jim bowed his head. "I know. But I promise you, I _am_ being careful, I will be careful. I want to be here – with you." He pulled her toward him and held her.


	2. Chapter 2

Episode 16: "Teenage Wasteland"

Day Two

_Scene One_

Fisk sat on the desk opposite Jim's. "Okay, bring me up to speed."

Marty looked up from his computer. "In checking out the building where the DOA was found, there were a couple of calls since it's been vacant, apparently to break up 'rave' parties. The last one was about two months ago."

Tom added, "The owner of the building says it's been vacant for about four months. He evicted all the tenants so he could renovate. The contractor started the job and did most of the demolition, then stopped showing up about a month ago. The place was basically gutted to the walls, and it's been pretty much deserted for the past month or so."

Fisk turned to the detectives from the 20th. "Morrison, Vecchione, what do the friends – what's their names, Jennifer and Kendra – have to say?"

"Both of them were pretty broken up when we told them," Morrison replied. "They didn't know what Michelle was doing in that building, and no clue about the triangles."

Vecchione added, "Kendra did say that she and Jennifer had drifted apart some from Michelle since they started college. Michelle started hanging out with a different crowd. They really didn't know her new friends, didn't like them, apparently. Kendra thought Michelle was getting into drugs more and suggested it could have been a drug deal gone bad."

"Jim, Karen, fill them in on what the ME had to say."

Karen looked over at Jim, who appeared to be lost in his "thinking" mode. "Dunbar's thinking again," Marty explained to Morrison and Vecchione.

Karen ignored him. "The cause of death was a single GSW to the back of the head. No other trauma. No signs of a struggle. No sexual assault. Preliminary BA was negative, but it'll be a while until the complete toxicology report comes back. The marks on her face look like triangles. That's about it."

"Something to share, Jim?" Fisk asked.

"Things don't add up, Boss," Jim replied. "There's no sexual assault, and no sexual positioning of the body after the killing. Plus, there are no defense wounds, and no evidence of a struggle at the scene. It just doesn't feel like a sexual killing."

"What about Kendra's idea of a drug deal gone bad?" Vecchione suggested.

"That doesn't feel right, either. Sure, they could have used the vacant building to make their deal, but why go to the basement? And how did the deal go bad? Michelle had plenty of money. If the dealers wanted payment 'in kind,' there would have been evidence of a sexual assault. Plus, where do the triangles fit in? None of the drug-dealing gangs we know of use anything like that as their symbol."

"So what are you thinking, Jim?" Tom asked.

"One thing that doesn't fit in with any of our theories is the way the body was found. She wasn't just left where she fell after being shot. Someone moved her, placed her on her back, folded her hands on her chest – like she was in a coffin – then covered her. There's something else going on here – maybe some feeling for the victim, or remorse. I think we're dealing with a killer who knew her."

"That would also explain why she went there voluntarily – if she did – and why there was no struggle," Karen pointed out. "But what about the triangles?"

"A diversion, to throw us off."

"Okay, so where do we go from here?" Fisk asked.

"Let's get her friends in here," Marty suggested.

"Agreed." Fisk turned to Morrison and Vecchione. "Dave, Paul, you go get them."

"On our way," Morrison replied.

_Scene Two_

Jim hung up his phone and turned toward Karen. "That was the tech guy from the lab. They just finished with Michelle's computer. She kept a journal on it. Most of the recent entries are complaints that Kendra and Jennifer don't want to spend time with her any more and are being mean to her. The lab is faxing it over."

Karen jumped up to grab the pages from the fax machine as they came in. Scanning them quickly, she told Jim, "Just as the tech guy said. They're all 'I thought they were my friends, why are they being so mean to me' kind of stuff."

"Let's get them copied."

A few minutes later, Karen handed Jim a copy of the fax. He scanned it into his computer and listened intently. He was still listening when Morrison and Vecchione arrived with Jennifer and Kendra and escorted them to separate interview rooms. Jennifer was tall and willowy, with long, light brown hair. She carried herself with an assurance that made her seem older than her 19 years. Kendra was shorter, with dark, curly hair framing her face. She looked apprehensively around the squad room, pausing for a moment when she saw Jim.

Karen rolled her chair over to Jim's desk. "They're here. Which one do you want to talk to first?"

"Kendra, I think. She's mentioned in more of the entries. Have you finished reading?"

"Yeah," Karen replied, "Looks like her 'friends' were doing some pretty nasty stuff."

Jim nodded. "Some 'friends'."

Karen walked over to the interview rooms and asked Morrison and Vecchione to come out to talk to her. She handed them copies of the journal. "You're going to want to read this."

"While you're reading, Karen and I are going to have a conversation with Kendra," Jim told them.

"If anyone talks to her, it should be us," Vecchione asserted.

Fisk emerged from his office. "What's the problem?"

"Paul here seems to have a problem with me and Karen interviewing Kendra," Jim told him.

"Not a problem – " Vecchione began.

Fisk cut off the discussion. "It's Bettancourt's case."

"Which one is Kendra?" Karen asked.

"Room one."

_Scene Three_

Jim and Karen entered the interview room. Jim stood next to the windows, leaning against the sill. "Hello, Kendra, I'm Detective Dunbar, and this is Detective Bettancourt."

"Hello," Kendra said guardedly, staring at Jim.

Karen sat down at the table opposite Kendra. "We're sorry about your friend, Michelle," she began.

"Thank you. I can't believe she's – dead."

"We understand she was a good friend of yours," Karen continued. "How long had you known her?"

"Forever, it seems like – since fifth grade."

"Do you know anyone who would want to do this to her? Was she having problems with anyone?"

"No, no one that I know of. But, you know, since we started college, she had a lot of new friends. I didn't know most of them, and I didn't like the ones I did know. She was getting into drugs. I think some of her new friends were dealers. She must have come down here to buy drugs, and something went wrong."

Jim spoke for the first time since introducing himself and Karen. "You weren't having problems with her?"

"No, why would you think that?"

He walked over to the table, sat down, and took off his dark glasses. Turning to face directly toward where he thought Kendra was sitting, he took the sheaf of faxed print-outs from his jacket pocket. "These."

"What are they?"

"Michelle's journal, from her computer. Want to take a look?"

He pushed the pages across the table, in her direction. Kendra looked at the print-outs in shock. "Oh, my God, she actually wrote this stuff down?"

"You _were_ having problems with Michelle, weren't you?"

"No, I mean, not really. Okay, she was bugging us, but we wouldn't, you know, _do_ anything to her."

"No?" Jim asked, skeptically. In a harsher tone, he went on, "What about the time you dislocated her finger? You call that nothing?"

"It didn't mean anything," Kendra protested, "it was an accident. She was bugging me, and I was just trying to get her to go away."

"By pulling her finger out of its joint?" Jim raised his voice in disbelief.

"It was an accident," Kendra insisted.

"You know, Kendra," Karen stood behind her and leaned over. "The other detectives are talking to Jennifer right now. What do you think she's telling them?"

"I don't know. I mean, there's nothing to tell."

"I guess you're going to have to find out the hard way how good a friend Jennifer really is," Karen suggested.

"What's that mean?"

"Do you really think she's going to be able to stick to the story you cooked up about Michelle going to meet a drug dealer, when the pressure's on?"

"I –, I –," Kendra stammered.

"And when she caves in," Karen continued, "what's she going to tell them? That you killed Michelle? That it was all your idea?"

Kendra stared at Karen but said nothing.

Jim stood up and walked to Kendra's side of the table. He sat on the table next to her and said, "We know you know what happened to Michelle. Tell us what really happened. Don't let Jennifer put it all on you."

"Okay," Kendra whispered, looking down at the table.

"Tell us," Karen urged her. "What was your problem with Michelle?"

"Michelle had changed," Kendra began, "or maybe Jen and I had – I don't know. She was just so needy. She wanted to hang out with us all the time, and we didn't want to be around her any more. We kept telling her to get a life, but she kept clinging to us. Our college friends thought she was a joke. It was embarrassing. We thought maybe we could talk some sense into Michelle if we scared her."

"Scare her how?" Jim asked.

"With Jen's dad's gun. He never used it, and we knew he'd never miss it. Jen and I went to a rave at a vacant building down here last month. So we told Michelle to meet us there. We told her it would be a good place to smoke some weed before we went to check out a place we'd heard of down here. We just wanted to scare her. . . ." She shook her head and looked away.

"Kendra?" Karen prompted her. "What happened?"

"It was an accident – a horrible accident. We smoked some weed and talked for a while. Michelle kept saying how good it was to spend time together, just the three of us. Jen and I couldn't believe she was so clueless, but she kept going on and on about it. I finally just came out with it. I told her she needed to stop stalking us and get a life. That's when Jen showed her the gun. She freaked out and started screaming. The gun went off, I don't know. . . . Jen said it went off by accident, she didn't mean to – " She put her face in her hands and began to cry.

Karen pushed the tissue box across the table. Kendra wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then continued. "She was lying there on the floor. There was blood and brains all over. We knew she was dead. We panicked, we didn't know what to do. Jen was babbling, totally freaked out. I decided we should leave Michelle there and hope no one would find her for a while. But I couldn't leave her just lying there. I dragged her over next to the wall and covered her with a cloth I found."

"What were the triangles about?"

"That was my idea. I thought it would make it look like she was into something weird, or maybe some psycho killed her."

"Where's the gun?" asked Jim.

"We threw it in the river that night."

Kendra looked over at Karen, tears streaming down her face. "I still can't believe it happened. I am so sorry, but it was an accident, a horrible accident." She began to sob.

Jim and Karen left the interview room. He closed the door behind them and headed to his desk.

"Kinda sad, huh, Jim?" Tom asked.

He stopped and turned toward Tom. "Yeah. Three young lives – " He frowned and shook his head. "What a waste."

"Dave, Paul," Fisk said as they walked out of the observation room, "The victim's parents will want to know."

"We'll take care of it, as soon as we finish up our fives," Morrison told him.

"You might as well head back to your squad after that and let your boss know. We can wrap things up from here."

"Okay," Vecchione replied.

Jim sat down at his desk and beckoned to Hank. He scratched the dog's ears, looking pensive. Karen watched him thoughtfully from her own desk for a few minutes, then scooted her chair over to him. "So, do you think a jury will buy that it was an accident?" she asked.

Jim raised his head and seemed to look directly at her. "Do you?"

_Scene Four_

An hour later, Vecchione and Morrison had finished their reports and turned them over to Fisk. After gathering their belongings, they turned to leave. "It sure has been eye-opening, seeing how they close cases here at the 8th," Morrison observed.

"How's that?" Jim asked, tilting his head quizzically.

"All they have to do is wait for the blind guy to pull the rabbit out of the hat," he replied, grinning.

"Yeah, something like that," Tom said, with a warning look at Marty.

"Maybe we should get our own blind guy," Vecchione suggested.

"I know where you can find one," Marty offered.

"Later, guys," Morrison called as he and Vecchione walked down the hall to the elevator.


End file.
